


Redemption,

by Trixie_Baggins



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Home, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Redemption, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixie_Baggins/pseuds/Trixie_Baggins
Summary: or How the Winter Soldier and the Boy with the Hands of Ice Learned about Love, Forgiveness, and Home.





	1. Introduction

Here they were. Both prisoners of the wretched Avengers. They were the same, and yet so different. Both had the same, slightly wavy, chin length hair. Both had blood staining their clothes.  One was dressed very casually- jeans and a hoodie. The other very formally- suit and dress shirt.  


  


Although they occupied the same space, they had done as much as they could to distance themselves from each other.  They talked minimally, but they could read each other's stories in their eyes.

 

They weren't dead for the obvious reasons- their ties to the Avengers and that sliver of hope called redemption.

 

One by one the Avengers each came down to talk to them. Nat first, of course. She knew both of them, knew how they thought, knew who they truly were.

 

"You don't have to do this," she implored. "You have options."

 

They both looked at her. One had contempt in her eyes. That she would come here after everything she put him through? The nerve. The other looked at her with kindness, and this desire to believe her. She offered the banner of peace, and he wanted to take it, but he could not. He knew her, perhaps even more than she knew herself. They had a connection that few others could claim.

 

Clint was next. He had history similar to theirs and understood some of what they were going through.  He talked of forgiveness and new starts, and it sounded good, of course.  


  


"They don't understand. They couldn't," one finally said.  


  


"Then make them understand," Clint had replied.  


  


Tony refused to talk to either of them. It was understandable, really. They had taken so much from him. If it had been left to him, they would have been dead already, or dying in the most agonizing way he could invent.

 

Banner came to talk to them, of course. They were both considered monsters in the eyes of the world, and so he knew how it felt. He was living proof that redemption was possible, and that a monster didn't have to be one.

 

They looked at him. He called himself a monster, by they both knew he wasn't one. Not truly. He had had only good intentions towards the world. He wanted to help people, but they didn't want to. They had ulterior motives.  Bruce Banner could never truly be a monster.

 

They knew Thor was coming to talk to them several minutes before he did. He wasn't exactly quiet. His eyes held held the nostalgia of what was and the hope for what could be.  He knew what it felt like to make bad choices, but he also knew that bad choices could be changed. Wrong acts could be righted. Redemption and forgiveness were possible. He was living proof of that.

 

But not really. He had been the perfect son. The epitome of familial ties and heir to the throne. Any choice he made could not have been a bad choicr because Odin supported and loved him no matter what. The same could not have been said about his other son.

 

Steve came to talk to them last. They had always known he would. Steve Rogers was loyal and moral and everything that was good with the world. Steve Rogers was America's golden boy. The poster child for justice.

 

He wasn't like the others. When he looked at them he didn't see monsters that could be changed. He didn't see murderers or even mad men. He saw through the facade they had presented. He saw who they truly were.

 

They were survivors. They were the product of their environment. They were fighters who had clawed their way back to life. They had done whatever they had to, and they were scared. But they thought that presenting themselves as cold murderers and heartless monsters was better than letting anyone know they were afraid.

 

"I know who you are. And I know you can come home." He locked eyes with one. "Please come home."

  


"He cares about you," one finally said after Stever had left.

 

"Yes," the other replied. "But he shouldn't.  I don't deserve that."

 

"My brother still seems to think I can be redeemed, even after everything. But he wants that for him. He blames himself for me becoming a monster, and he wants to wipe his conscience. It must be nice- to have someone care for you just because you're you."

 

"Do you believe him? Do you think we can go home?"

 

"You can," the other replied, "but not me.  I don't have a home to go back to. I never did."

 

"How? People seemed to care about you."

 

"Because I am a monster. Stolen from my real father and then disowned by my fake one."  


  


The temperature in the cell dropped drastically and when they made eye contact again, he had blue creeping up his neck and hands.  


  


"If I can go home, then so can you," he declared.  


  


"I just told you that I don-"  


  


"Don't have a home. Got it. Then you can have mine as well."  He removed his hoodie, revealing a metallic arm."  I've been called a monster, but have also been offered redemption, a chance to do the right thing. And the right thing is to reach out to someone in need." He knocked on the window so that Steve would come back. "Let's go home."

 

 

  
  
  
  



	2. Home,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or Steve offers his, and they're not ready to call it that.

It was hard work.  Changing someone’s outlook on life, changing someone’s life, changing the world’s outlook on someone was hard, but changing those of two people seemed impossible.  Steve welcomed Bucky Barnes and Loki Odinson into his apartment, and told them to call it home.  No, that wasn’t quite right.  Steve welcomed the Winter Soldier, who used to be Bucky Barnes, and Loki Laufeyson into his apartment, and asked that they would make it their home.  Bucky hadn’t been Bucky for a long time, and Loki hadn’t called himself a son of Odin ever since he found out the truth.  The three of them were so similar, and yet they couldn’t see that.  They had all done things they regretted, they were all trying to pretend they were someone they weren’t, and they were all lost in this world.  

 

The first thing Bucky noticed about Steve’s apartment were the drawings on the wall.  Apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. had kept them for him, because they were littered with his old drawings from the ‘40s.  In one of the corners, an easel and art supplies had been set up, and he could see a partially finished drawing of the Black Widow.  

 

Bucky had mixed feelings about her.  She was a reminder of parts of him that he wanted to forget.  A reminder of Russia, of everything he had done, and everyone he had killed as  _ Him. _  The only reason she became who she was today, was because he turned her into that.  

 

“You helped her survive, you know,” he heard Loki’s voice behind him.

 

“What?”

 

“She would have died without your training and protection.  Look at all the good she’s done.  She’s saved the world.  You helped her do that.”

 

“All of that red in her ledger, though, I put that there.  That’s as good as mine.”

 

“No.  You enabled her to, but she did it herself.  There’s a difference between handing someone an axe, and chopping down a tree, believe me, I know.  I chopped down the tree.”

 

Steve watched this exchange from across the room.  For the first time, he saw Loki for who he truly was.  He walked with the swagger and the confidence that being alive for millenia gave, but here the facade seemed to slip away.  Here he seemed small, and much younger than he actually was.  For an instant, Captain Rogers wondered about the Loki before.  Loki as a child, growing up on Asgard, having a family, a brother he could trust, and a place to call home.

 

The soft meow dragged him out of his thoughts.  It was surprising that he was out.  Normally he was hiding when people were over.  Steve looked over to the armchair where Loki had taken a seat.  He was sitting cross-legged with his legs tucked under him, and the cat was sitting on his lap, all three legs tucked contently under him.

 

“Does he have a name?” Loki asked looking up at Steve.

 

“Yeah.  That’s Brooklyn.  Normally he hides from people.”

 

“Brooklyn, huh?” Bucky asked from the couch.

 

“Yeah.  He’s had some problems, but he’s still here:  Still alive, still trying his best.  Still surviving.”

 

Steve looked at the clock, just realizing how late it was.  “All right.  I’m going to bed.  I’ll see you guys tomorrow.  Make your guys at home.”

 

Bucky and Loki looked at each other across Steve’s living room.  They could be comfortable here.  They might even be able to be safe here.  But Steve asked them to call it home, to make it home.  But they didn’t know how.  For too long they had moved around, leaving everything behind when they had to, they couldn’t call anywhere “home” because that meant they were had feelings for it, and they had both lost everything they were attached to.

 

Right now, however, none of that mattered, because they could fall asleep here, and know that they would wake up here.  Bucky trusted Steve, and Loki though he might not be ready to admit it, trusted Bucky.  

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been rolling around in my head for a while, but I don't really know where I want to take it. Any ideas would be appreciated!


End file.
